- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Progeny
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There are so many terms to describe my condition:
Unfruitful,
Barren,
Empty,
Childless,
Infertile.
Funny how they all mean
Nothing grows in me.
How ridiculous to assume
That the product
Of my thighs would have anything to do
With growth.
No.
I produce no squalling replication of self,
Nor do I suffer the clamping crunch of passage,
But my earth is not salted.
My children live longer than such earthly beings.
My dear ones, while not pink-cheeked,
Cry out to the world, bearing my name,
Passing through lips, being sliced by teeth
To live on in pixels, in paper, in pulses.
How much more true are my children than yours?
Mine shall never betray
Nor defy, nor disappoint,
Nor die.
I live on.
And I bear such fruit as has never been seen.
- COMMENTS
KOLKOREabout 16 years agoThe children may very well indeed live and prosper to be known and admired, yet some could be very independent... no they won't turn on you, but like a strong willed child they could come with their own minds! people may like them, and not for the reasons you do...and people may find in them qualities you never knew! So is the life of a creation. Once born, goes on it's own: thank's mom!
LeBrozabout 16 years agoInsight into the progeny of the creative person. Have your children and in a century they'll probably be gone. Create a work of art and it may exist for centuries, or more. Aristotle & Michelangelo live on today in the works they left behind.
UnderYourSpellabout 16 years agoMe too so I know where you are coming from and your words are your progeny I can only hope mine are too
champagne1982about 16 years agoThis is a unique take on a subject many write about but few explain with the simple clarity you have expressed here. This poem is mentioned in the New Poems Review thread on literotica's Poetry Feedback and Discussion forum.
